A close friend of mine was just diagnosed with cancer. Oh.
It made me think of just how very fragile this life is. How anything could happen at any time. How bad things happen to good people.
It also made me wonder what we leave behind when it's all said and done. How people will remember us, the things they will say, the stories they will tell. About me, about you. When we're just a picture on the wall.
And I realize that I'm falling short of the person that I want to be. That I fail myself in many ways, day after day. A cutting remark, an impatient look, an unfulfilled promise.
It seems, this work in progress has raggedy edges.
I aspire to grace, I aspire to generosity, I aspire to kindness. I have my moments -- shiny and effortless. But then, I stumble and fall. I don't write the letter, I don't reach out the hand, I don't give up the grudge whose sense evaporated long, long ago.
And so I'm vowing to try harder to become the person that I want to be. The person worth remembering in big and small ways. And soon. Oh, soon. Before it's me to whom the doctor turns and says, I have bad news. And I'm confronted with the cold truth that a paper hospital gown is poor protection for what lies underneath.